


What Derek Would Do

by fictionalcandie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tells Derek about how he tried to use WWDD (<em>What Would Derek Do</em>, obviously; it's totally a viable life philosophy, Stiles is considering putting it on a t-shirt for Scott's benefit) to get Lydia to dance with him. He ends up learning something <em>completely</em> unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Derek Would Do

"— first I was just, y'know, polite. And that didn't work because apparently we were just having another round of the ongoing Pretend Stiles Is Invisible For Life game that everyone but me seems really into playing," says Stiles. "So I tried again only instead of following the Pleasantville handbook, I thought What Would Derek Do."

Derek doesn't blink at him. Stiles is pretty sure that this is because Derek doesn't actually blink ever. But probably he'd be blinking if he were a normal, non-Derek person.

"'What would Derek do'?" Derek repeats, dubiously. Well mostly he sounds the same as he always does, but Stiles is taking interpretive liberties here because that was _definitely_ a new shade in the spectrum of Derek's Nearly-Monotonous Grouchy Growling.

"Yep. I yelled at her!"

Derek stares at him. There's slightly more disapproval in it than Derek's usual Stiles-is-confusing-and-annoying-I-want-to-rip-his-throat-out thousand yard stare. "Yelled?"

"Aggressively. With aggression!" says Stiles, waving his arms for emphasis. He pauses, deflating a little, before he goes on. "It didn't work."

Derek stares at him some more. Creepily. Creepy staring. Really, they should make that an Olympic sport, Derek would medal every time, no question.

"So!” says Stiles, brightly. “Then, since obviously at that point it wasn't going to happen anyway, I went ahead and asked her the way I would have if I were being myself."

"Okay," says Derek.

There was totally almost the suggestion of something that in the dark could be mistaken for something close to fondness, lurking somewhere under that flat, unimpressed menace, so Stiles grins at him.

"And," he says, with just a tiny little helping of smug glee, "it actually _worked_."

Derek's left eyebrow twitches. A little. Maybe.

Stiles holds his hands up, bounces on the balls of his feet, and keeps grinning. "I know! I couldn't believe it either, but it totally did. Work."

"This surprises you."

And, okay, so Stiles wasn't expecting much in the way of audience participation when he started this — really it had just been quiet for too long, Stiles isn't good with quiet (seriously, Stiles is bad with quiet, like, _all the time_ , but especially bad with it when werewolves sneak into his bedroom at night to lurk without speaking in his computer chair and completely prevent him from doing his homework by staring at him. With their _eyes_. It's the kind of situation that definitely requires talking. And standing on the other side of the room), and he'd needed a story, something to fill the silence, and That Time Lydia Danced With Me had seemed as good as any, and certainly better than That Time Your Crazy Uncle Wanted To Bite Me — but he definitely wasn't expecting _that_ , and it takes him a second to work out that there were words. From Derek. Words which weren't actually a question, come to think of it, and really, hey, were more like an accusation.

"Uh," he says, squinting and trying to reacquaint himself with the thread of this conversation. "Yes?"

“Really.“ And what is this, Derek is using _more_ words, of his own that Stiles didn’t say just a second ago? What happened to being silent during the creepy staring? “It actually surprises you.”

“... Of course?“ Stiles says— offers, really; what kind of response is Derek looking for here? Stiles gives him a look that is wary, and yes, that's completely justifiable. It’s _Derek_.

“Why.”

Oh, good, Derek has escalated to actual lets-herald-violence level glaring. Great.

“Because usually — as illustrated by what I was just saying earlier — people don‘t want to dance with me even when I‘m pretending I‘m socially acceptable? I mean, let‘s face it, obviously they totally don‘t.“

Derek crosses his arms. Also, he nods. "I wouldn't."

Stiles keeps his expression blank and his voice even by virtue of long practice. He knew that, he totally knew that. It doesn't sting at all.

"I knew that," he says. "So you see my point here, right."

Derek frowns. It‘s epic and menacing and unfairly hot. It's a Derek frown. Stiles isn't really sure what part of what he said is annoying enough to deserve it this time.

"No."

"... wait, you don't?" Stiles lets his hands flail a little. "What isn't to see?"

"I'd dance with you."

Stiles chokes on nothing. Or maybe air. Possibly his own spit. "Um, you _just said_ you wouldn't. Also, dude, _what_?"

Because Stiles knows that he isn't even attractive to gay guys, and certainly not to creepy intimidating alpha werewolves who are probably straight, assuming they ever un-scowl long enough to have all the hot, sweaty, filthy, dirty sex that their totally impressive abs (and arms, and shoulders, and pecs, and back, and ass— Stiles could do this all day) deserve. So that makes Derek's announcement, like, _doubly_ baffling.

"I wouldn't dance with you if you were being all..." Derek stops, frowning, and makes a jerky, shapeless sort of gesture in Stiles's direction. Stiles takes it to mean 'being so _Stiles_ ', and manages an encouraging nod, because really, he gets that, he does, it doesn't hurt at all.

"I got that," he assures Derek. "That part, I definitely got. But why—"

"I _would_ dance with you," Derek says, firmly, "if you were being _you_."

Stiles stares. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He stares some more.

Derek keeps staring, too. He doesn't take his words back. Or _explain_ them.

"Okay," Stiles admits after a minute or two, "I definitely missed something here."

Derek growls. He looks... really annoyed. And possibly pained, like talking about this is doing physical damage to him. Or something. "I would dance with you," he says, and Stiles must be hallucinating this, actually, because it really sounds like Derek is being _careful_ with his words, "but not while you were trying to behave like everyone else."

Stiles blinks a couple of times. "Oh- _kay_ , then..."

Derek's eyebrows meet aggressively in the center and lower. A lot. He's definitely scowling now. But it isn't the hold-still-I-have-to-maim-you-now scowl. It's a _new_ one. Stiles thought he was familiar with all the scowls, this isn't fair, he doesn't have a name for this one.

"You don't get it," says Derek.

"I really don't," says Stiles.

Derek growls again, his eyes flashing red, and really, if he hates the conversation this much, why'd he start _participating_ in it in the first place? Stiles had been doing just fine carrying it on all by himself, thank you very much.

"If you were being _Stiles_ ," says Derek, "I'd dance with you."

"I'm always Stiles," says Stiles, because, really, there isn't enough Adderall in the _world_ to stop that.

"Yes. Well. When you're being _yourself_ , it's... better."

Stiles opens his mouth with the intention of telling Derek that this whole not-making-sense thing is getting old, but something in his brain turns that last statement over, adds two and two and gets five, and what actually comes out of his mouth is, "Oh my _god_. I'm Renée Zellweger."

Derek's face goes soft and blank in confusion, the red disappearing from his eyes (which means he was probably doing it on purpose, actually, the jerk, why was that necessary? That was so totally not necessary). "What."

"No, really." Stiles points accusingly. "You like me just the way I am!"

"Stiles," says Derek, and nothing else, oh, crap, Stiles is _totally right_ , isn't he. He needs to reevaluate everything, apparently he can't read Derek nearly as well as he thought, this _changes all the things holy crap_.

"You totally do! There just aren't enough words in Grumpy-Alpha-ese for you to say it! Oh my god, holy crap, you totally do!"

Stiles hasn’t even noticed him moving, but suddenly Derek catches Stiles's flailing arms — Stiles can’t help it, this is big, this is epic, he doesn't know what to do with this, he can't stand still for this, not when Derek basically just almost sort of maybe admitted to having a _feeling_ , about Stiles of all people — and shakes him a little. Carefully. _Gently_ , even, what did Stiles take to get this hallucination, he needs to figure out and then _take it every day_.

" _Stiles_ ," says Derek, his fingers tight where they're wrapped around Stiles's arms just above his elbows, "Stiles, breathe."

Stiles sucks in a lungful of air automatically — what, Derek told him to! — and when it makes his lungs stop burning, and the spots at the edges of his vision go away, he has the thought that maybe Derek told him to breathe because, hey, apparently he kind of wasn't.

"... oh."

"You okay now?" asks Derek, and it's a question and everything. He's staring at Stiles still, from up close now.

"Yeah, yes, I'm good," says Stiles, only a tiny bit gaspy. "Your eyes are really intense."

"What."

"You like me," Stiles says. His lips tug up at the corners, and then without his consent he’s grinning so widely that his face hurts.

Derek's hands flex, and his cheeks go the tiniest bit pink, but he doesn't let go and he doesn't say anything, which means he's not denying it.

"Oh my god, you _like_ me," Stiles says again, bouncing a little in Derek's grip, just to see, and no, Derek doesn't let go. Awesome.

"Shut up," says Derek. _Still not denying it_.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," says Stiles. He can do that, now, because Derek likes him when he's being _Stiles_ , and _Stiles_ doesn't shut up just because somebody tells him to once, which means _Derek likes it_.

He sees Derek grin, just for a second, but then it’s gone, fast enough Stiles almost thinks he imagined it — except even _his_ brain’s not fertile enough to come up with _that_ out of nothing — and Derek is shaking him again, still gentle.

“You good now?”

“I’m always good,” Stiles says, automatically.

Derek’s fingers uncurl. _Really slowly_.

He _totally_ likes Stiles.

This is going to be awesome. This is the best thing ever. Like, seriously, ever.

“This is gonna be awesome,” Stiles tells Derek.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” says Derek, dryly. He goes back to Stiles’s computer chair, starts up with the creepy staring again.

Everything’s exactly like it was five minutes ago — except completely different.

“ _So_ awesome,” mutters Stiles, and when Derek’s eyebrows twitch at him, he beams and starts in on All The Ways Scott Was Dense Today.


End file.
